Watching
by Kiska King
Summary: Draco does is not a stalker. He is merely watching her, gathering knowledge of her.


Watching

By Kiska King

_Add together one part boredom, one part procrastination, and two parts urge to write and voilà: Dramione drabble! Enjoy_

_Author of this story does not claim ownership of any part of the Harry Potter universe._

* * *

It wasn't stalking. He was just watching her. It wasn't creepy that he enjoyed watching her; it was for reconnaissance, not pleasure. She was the enemy, and he needed to know her weaknesses. She was a chink in Potter's armor that he might need to exploit one day.

So, you see, Draco Malfoy was most definitely not a stalker and it was important that he knew all of Granger's quirks.

Such as her addiction to sugar quills. She would sit in the library for hours, doing homework with the tip of a quill in her mouth until her lips were glistening and stickily wet. Then pink tongue would sensuously dart over her lips and it was all he could do not to groan.

Not because it was sexy, but because one day he would exploit her weakness for sugar and that excited him . He just had to figure out how first.

Sometimes, after taking her quill out of her mouth to write down whatever gem of knowledge she had found, she would scratch her nose with those dainty fingers, nails worn ragged from biting, and leave the slightest hint of ink on her nose. Draco found this revolting, and reassured himself many times as he watched her that it was fitting that her nose was as filthy as her blood. And that his urge to wipe it gently from her otherwise perfect face was because of his demand for neatness, not because he cared about her.

He also noted that, sometimes, she would become excited over new knowledge, and he in turn would become excited with her. It had nothing to do with the fact that her glistening lips would part and her breath would become ragged. Or that her eyes, normally a dull chocolate, would brighten and turn the color of new earth after the rain, complete with tiny green flecks. Once, after accidentally bumping into her and spilling all of her books, Draco saw, as she yelled at him, that there was even a hint of gold around the iris. He put down the fact that he felt the earth's gravitational pull on him lessen as he looked into them as due to the fact he appreciated the art of her eyes. And one day he would use knowledge that excited her to blackmail her.

He was not always sure what he would blackmail Granger into doing. Most days, he pictured her giving herself to the Dark Lord. Then they would find out that Granger was not, in fact, a Mudblood, but descended from an ancient house of wizardry that had gone into hiding long ago and whose powers had not resurfaced until her.

Because there was no possible way that a Muggle-born witch could be as clever and as powerful as Hermione Granger.

Sometimes, on the rare occasion that Draco let his mind wander, Hermione came to him of her own free will. In those musings, Hermione had succumbed to his undeniable allure and lay quivering at his feet, begging that he take her. He enjoyed this fantasy because he liked having power over people, and not because he enjoyed the thought of Hermione Granger seducing him with a sugar quill every night. He never got goose bumps thinking of what she could do to him with those soft, enticing lips, nor what those long, elegant fingers would feel like running over his skin. The goose bumps were from one of the many drafts in the castle.

He did not always watch her in the library. Sometimes, he gather information outside. She liked to study in the shade by the lake. On one hot summer day, she would bring ice cream from the kitchens and he could not help but stare as he watched her lie on her back and enjoy.

Her lips, red and full as cherries, would part in a soft moan. Her eyelids narrowed to slits, her eyes rolled back in her head in ecstasy. Brown curls flared around her face and clung to her forehead with sweat.

Draco knew then that Hermione was helplessly addicted to sweets. He wondered vaguely if she was denied them as a child, since her parents were dentists. He found Muggle Studies much more interesting after he had begun to watch Hermione, but only because he needed the knowledge in order to manipulate her.

The fact that he woke up from dreams of her twisted in his sheets and covered in sweat certainly had nothing to do with arousal, but with a different sort of excitement. He was excited to bring down Potter. Excited to please those who ruled his life.

* * *

Today, Draco was once again waiting for his prey in the library, knowing that she would show up sooner or later. When she finally arrived, she brushed past him without a word and threw down her bag. She went to one of the shelves and began to look for a book that she had been reading. A confused look crossed her face when she could not find it. She scanned the entire book case and her expression darkened when she came to the top of the shelf.

She muttered something that Draco did not entirely catch. He caught the words "stupid git" and "ferret" and smirked. Hermione stretched up to reach the book, flashing more of her legs than was decent. Draco would use this against her later, most assuredly.

Hermione's eyes locked with Draco's after she grabbed her book. She glared at him for a moment.

"If you do not stop hiding my books so that you can try to catch a glance at my knickers," she told him very slowly and threateningly while wagging a finger at him, "you will never be able to have sex again, Draco Malfoy."

His expression changed to one of total innocence. "I can't help it, darling," he drawled slowly, stepping closer to her. "I enjoy watching you. You put on such a good show."

"I feel like I'm in school all over again, with you stalking me," she mocked, hugging the book to her chest. He continued to move toward her.

"I never stalked you," he told her seriously. "I was watching your every move in order to find a weakness and give Potter up to the Dark Lord." He was now leering over her, a wicked smirk on his face.

"Does Harry know that?" she asked, all innocence and charm. "I think it would put a damper on your Sunday night poker game."

He leaned down and kissed her soft lips, wrapping his arms around her thin waist. Her lips burned against his and he enjoyed the way her soft body moved against his. He nipped her lip and she gasped before moving away.

"I can think of a better way to spend my Sunday night, anyways," he told her suggestively, pressing his arousal into her stomach.

"So can I," she admitted, pressing her lips to his again. After a few moments, they parted again.

"So how was work, love?" he asked her.


End file.
